


The Fever, It Brings To Light

by JusteAmusant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Building Relationship, Delirious Dean, Delirium, Drugged Dean, Fever, Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Scared Dean, Silly Dean, What's Up With Dean, Worried Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6697531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JusteAmusant/pseuds/JusteAmusant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean unknowingly gets drugged on a hunt, Sam tries to figure out what's wrong before the clock runs out</p><p>Of course, if Dean would stop acting like a happy, flirty drunk, pinching Sam's butt and petting his hair, that would be just great</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“And what did you say is wrong with him?”

Sam shouldered a grinning, slumped over Dean, his hand gripping Dean’s where his arm was slung around Sam’s shoulder, Dean’s body leaning lazily into Sam’s like his legs were made of jello.

Sam grunted as he lowered Dean down to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. “I don’t…Dean, stop.” Sam interrupted himself when Dean carded a hand through Sam’s hair. “I don’t know.”

“Such pretty hair.” Dean petted Sam’s head.

The nurse raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Is he drunk?”

Sam huffed. “I wish.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, knocking Dean’s hand off his head in the process.

Dean pushed his hand into Sam’s hair, and Sam slapped it away. Dean tried again, and Sam once more slapped his hand against Dean’s, repeating the cycle four more times. Sam yanked his arm back when he realized they had gotten into a ridiculous slap fight. Dean pouted, so Sam rolled his eyes and stepped closer to his brother so Dean could tangle his fingers in Sam’s belt loops.

Sam placed a steadying hand on Dean’s back and looked helplessly at the nurse. “We were out on a-we were out last night, behind the old Granger ranch, and-“

“The Granger ranch? What the hell were y’all doin’ out there?” She half asked, half scolded.

Telling her that they had been tracking down a cursed piece of farm equipment would likely have them checking Sam into the nearest psych unit. “It doesn’t matter!” Sam snapped.

The nurse jumped.

“Don’t worry.” Dean patted her arm. “He’s just mad because I tried to kiss him,” he stage whispered to her. Dean winked at Sam, then pinched his butt.

Sam flushed and jerked his hips away from Dean. “Look. I’m sorry. It’s just, we were out there last night, and then I wake up to find that my br-“ Shit. Sam had signed his name into the hospital log when he came in. After Dean’s too close call with a jail cell a few months back, it wouldn’t help matters if he revealed that they had the same last name. Not to mention how handsy and crazy Dean was acting.

Imparting that they were brothers was probably not the best move.

Sam coughed. “My friend is acting really weird. He hasn’t been himself since we got up this morning.”

Dean tugged on the nurse’s sleeve and spoke to her behind his hand. “We slept in the same bed.” He grinned, and held up a finger to his lips to make a ‘shh’ signal at Sam.

The nurse smiled despite the situation, and Sam turned his hands up helplessly. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I am just worried that Dean’s really sick or something. He seems so out of it, and this morning he was burning up. That’s why I rushed him here.” Sam frowned and reached out a hand to feel Dean’s forehead. “Although he feels fine now.”

Dean turned his cheek into Sam’s hand. “Kiss it better, Sammy.”

“Awww,” the nurse crooned. “Y’all have nicknames for each other!” She looked around. “Although you might wanna lower your voice. Some folks around here don’t take too kindly to, uh, you know.” She gestured between the two men.

“It’s not like that, we-“

Dean shot up from the bed, his jaw set, fists clenched. “Bring it on,” he growled at the waiting area outside his room. “No one touches my Sammy.” Dean would have been much more intimidating had he not started swaying on his feet.

“Dean.” Sam forced his brother to sit back down and then eased away to push the door closed, not quite engaging the latch. “No one is gonna hurt me.”

“I see what you mean. Mood swings.” The nurse jotted down some notes on her chart. Sam was about to correct her and tell her that Dean acting protective was in no way a mood swing, but if it got her paying attention to Dean’s symptoms then Sam wasn’t about to interfere. “He was definitely running a fever this morning. When I mentioned going to get coffee at the local diner down the street from our hotel, he flipped. He was terrified. Steered me resolutely away from the diner and insisted we go to _Starbucks_.” Sam lowered the chart from in front of her face and pinned her with his gaze. “Believe me, if you knew my br-if you knew Dean, you would know that the last place he would be caught dead in is a Starbucks.” Sam’s brows drew together.

Not that Dean had ordered anything. But still.

The nurse raised her eyebrow. “I see. Any other strange symptoms?” She pulled up Dean’s sleeve and swabbed the inside of his arm.

Dean started breathing faster. “Sam?”

Sam stood next to Dean again so Dean could lean against him, Dean’s eyes watching the nurse’s motions warily as she gathered three small vials. Sam felt Dean tense, but continued speaking. “He is acting totally goofy, and trust me, goofy isn’t in Dean’s normal routine either.” He frowned.  “Uh, mood swings, like you said. One minute he is happy, like high on drugs or two really good drinks in happy, then the next minute he’s super scared and nervous. Bouts of sweating, feverishness, and, uh.” Sam blushed. He wasn’t quite sure how to tell her that he woke up to Dean plastered against his body, Dean’s hand reaching into Sam’s sleep shorts, whispering filthy words in Sam’s ear while stroking something that definitely, definitely should not have been giving Dean any considerable reaction.

The nurse grabbed a small syringe and a piece of tubing. “Yes?”

Sam looked at the floor.

She placed a gentle hand on Sam’s arm. “The more you tell me, the more I can try to help.”

“Ah, he also seems-” God, what would she think? Although, she seemed to think they were more than just friends, and hadn’t been too fazed by that. “He is extremely…frisky. I mean, he’s a horndog most of the time, but, uh.” _But not, yanno, with me._

Okay, so maybe there had been some weird glances in the last few months. A few more hugs, a little more casual touching than maybe was normal…

“I see.” She said again, interrupting Sam’s thoughts. She arranged the vials within easy reach, and raised a needle. “I’m going to take a couple blood samples. We can run some tests and see-“

“Sammy!” Dean scrambled up from where he sat on the edge of the bed, tucking his legs up under him and hiding behind Sam. “No! No, no needles, no blood, no needles, Sam! No! Needles!” Dean had a death grip on Sam’s upper arms, and Sam could feel Dean’s breath hot on his neck. If Dean leaned any more into Sam, Sam would be able to feel Dean’s heart pounding against Sam’s back.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam reached up to pry Dean’s fingers from where they dug into his skin. “It’s okay.” He turned to face Dean, and cupped his face. “Calm down, Dean. You hear me? Breathe. Slow down. That’s it. There you go.”

Air still puffed from Dean’s lungs in short, shallow pants. His wide eyes quickly darted back and forth between Sam and the syringe the nurse was holding.  Sam looked at her over his shoulder. “Can you put that down for a minute?”

Dean’s fingers curled into Sam’s jeans again. “Sammy,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay, Dean.” Sam soothed. He ran his hands over Dean’s hair, holding Dean steady with one arm and rubbing circles on his back with the other. “No needles. See? It’s okay.” Keeping hold of Dean, he turned to face the nurse. “Wanna take another note?” Sam couldn’t help the snarky tone that crept into his voice; she was only trying to help, she didn’t know any better, but this was Dean, this was _Dean,_ Sam’s older brother who always fixed _everything,_ but now he was broken and Sam didn’t know how to fix _him_. “The regular Dean isn’t afraid of _anything.”_

 

Forty minutes and lots of pleading later, the nurse and Sam had convinced Dean to at least get hooked to an IV drip.

“He’s extremely dehydrated, Sam.” The blonde spoke to Sam as if Dean couldn’t hear. Not an unreasonable approach, seeing as how the adult in question was currently drawing stick people up and down Sam’s arm with the nurse’s pen. “His fever is coming back but he isn’t sweating. You said he hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink since last night. Whatever is in his system, it’s stripping his body of liquids. That may explain some of the so called ‘goofier’ symptoms, and the light headedness.”

“Hey Sam.” Dean tugged at Sam’s belt loop. “Checkit out.” He pointed to a stick figure with a circle on its head. “It’s Bobby!” He pointed to a girl stick figure next to it. “And he’s totally mackin’ on Ellen.” Dean grinned at stick Bobby. “You dog.” Sam’s forearm gave a ticklish flinch when Dean bent down to start drawing again.

Sam gave the nurse a pleading look. “Can you tell me anything? Anything that you think this might be?”

The nurse sighed, and walked over to the door to Dean’s room, shutting it fully before turning to Sam. “Look, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but you seem to have…” She shook her head. “More experience than most. In what, I don’t know. I don’t even know what I mean by that. I just.” She took a measured inhale. “Strange stuff has been happening around here lately. And your boyfriend isn’t the first one to come in here with weird, unexplainable symptoms. Most of the doctors here want to explain it away with lack of sleep, or allergies, or other stuff like that, but.”  She glanced out the small rectangular window on the heavy wooden door.

Sam didn’t bother to correct her this time. “But you don’t think that’s it.”

She met his gaze. “And neither do you.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

She looked at Dean, her mouth curling as she watched him reach the sleeve on Sam’s arm and tug Sam around so he could start on the other one. “My friend’s sister, she came home about a week ago from a date with her boyfriend. Some new guy she was excited about seeing. The next day, my friend says she’s giddier than she’s ever seen her. I mean, she’s sixteen, so she’s still gonna get excited about boys, but it was different, you know?” She crossed over to Sam. “My friend and I met up with her for lunch that day, and she was acting so crazy that we had to drag her from the restaurant. She started burning up too, and like with Dean, it would come and go.” She dragged her eyes up to Sam. “Their date had consisted of sneaking onto the old Granger ranch to make out.”

Sam shifted. “How is she now?”

The nurse shrugged. “Not any better, not any worse. Seems like she’s one of the lucky ones.”

“The lucky ones?”

It was the nurse’s turn to shift on her feet. “I think we should talk outside.”

Sam’s heart started to pound, but he kept his voice calm when he spoke to Dean. “Hey, Dean, I’m going to step outside for a sec, okay?” Dean’s eyes started to go wide again, and Sam quickly grabbed the remote for the wall mounted TV. He raised Dean’s bed so Dean was sitting halfway up. “Here. Find yourself some Dr. Sexy or something.” He pointed to the door. “I’ll be right out there, and I’ll leave the door open. Just shout if you need me, ok?”

Dean huffed out a breath and settled back against the pillows of the hospital bed, his eyes suddenly looking tired and heavy. “Kay, Sammy.” He didn’t even seem bothered by the needle hooked into his arm anymore.

Once outside the doorway, Sam spoke in a low voice. “The truth. All of it. Now.” He stepped forward to block the path of an orderly heading into Dean’s room, but the nurse waved Sam off. “It’s okay. I paged him. We are going to see if Dean will eat something. Get his blood sugar up.”

The nurse then stood close, and Sam bent down so that she could speak quietly and quickly. “We’ve had five different cases in here over the last two weeks, all with sudden, unexplainable symptoms. Some variances, but there are lots of similarities- high fever, mood swings, and paranoia bein’ a few. Sam, two of them…” She looked away.

“Two of them didn’t make it.” Sam inferred.

She nodded soberly. “Two women, my friend’s sister included, seem affected but less so than the others. One got committed to psych because of the hallucinations. And the other two, both men, they…they died.” She whispered the last part, then spoke more desperately. “Sam, all of them had been out on the Granger ranch at some point in the few days before coming in.”

“How long between when the last two were at the Granger ranch and when they died?”

The nurse lifted a shoulder, her face sympathetic. “Nine, maybe ten days.”

Sam cursed. Five cases- three looney women, two dead men. Sam did not like the odds.

Dean’s sudden cry interrupted their conversation. “Sammy! SAM!”

Sam’s head jerked up, and he closed the distance back to his brother’s bed in four long strides. “Dean? Dean, what is it. What’s wrong?”

Dean grinned at him, holding something up in his left hand, and a plastic spoon in his right. “They have pudding!”

Sam braced his arms on Dean’s bed, letting his head sag in between them. “Jesus, Dean.”

Dean had finished one pudding cup and was starting in on his second. A spoonful of white cream appeared under Sam’s face where his head hung down between his shoulders. “Want some?”

Sam stood, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Bobby had better have some answers, and fast. “No, Dean. It’s all yours, bud.” Sam put the phone to his ear and walked towards the window, staring out at the hospital parking lot as he waited for Bobby to pick up.

Dean wiggled his butt back against his pillow and got comfortable again. “Okay. Love you.”

Sam whipped around, but Dean’s eyes were glued to his TV show, his plush lips sliding over his stupid plastic spoon as he slurped up more pudding.

Sam lifted the phone to his mouth when Bobby picked up. “Bobby? It’s Sam.” He watched his brother laugh at something on the TV screen, and gave Dean a small smile when Dean winked at him again. “Yeah, we have a problem.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High fever makes Dean delirious. While waiting for Bobby, Sam does the best he can.

“Okay, Dean. There we go.” Sam pulled off Dean’s boot. “Left foot.” Sam’s long fingers went to work untying Dean’s other boot.

A sock-covered foot prodded Sam’s cheek. “Hey there, Sammy-kins.” Dean wiggled his toes against Sam’s skin.

“Ugh, Dean, gross.” Sam elbowed Dean’s foot out of his face, still trying to get Dean’s other laces undone.

Dean fell back onto the bed with a hefty sigh, his legs still hanging off the bed as Sam finally pulled off his second boot. “’M bored, Samuel Jean.”

“Yeah, that’s not my name.”

Dean theatrically threw an arm across his eyes. “But it rhymes with Dean.” He bounced his legs up and down, wiggling his toes now that Sam had gotten his socks off. “Dean, Jean, mean, keen, bean…”  Sam listened to Dean ramble on as he undid Dean’s belt and slid it out of Dean’s pants.

Dean’s fever had gone down, and his vitals had stabilized, so the nurse had apologetically told Sam that there was really no reason to admit and keep him at the hospital. So Sam had brought his once again goofy brother back to their shared motel room. Sam had talked to Bobby, relaying the nurse’s intel on the Granger Ranch situation, as well as Dean’s symptoms- leaving out the inappropriate groping, of course- and was waiting on a call back.

It was one in the morning, Dean was mumbling to himself, and Sam was freaking exhausted. He thought he should probably try to get Dean to shower, since he had that clinical, sterile hospital smell on him, but Sam just didn’t have the energy right now.

Sam lifted Dean’s legs onto the bed and pulled his brother’s jeans off in one smooth move. Dean was now only wearing his briefs and a black tee shirt, claiming on the ride home from the hospital that he was too warm for his usual layers. Sam’s concerned hand had kept flying to Dean’s forehead every two minutes during the drive, but now he was thankful for Dean’s lack of clothing.

Sam tossed away the pants and dropped Dean’s legs onto the bed with an _oof_ , then maneuvered Dean underneath the top sheet. “Get some sleep, bro.” Sam turned to drop onto the other bed so he could follow his own order.

He was stopped by Dean’s strong fingers curling around his wrist. Dean tugged. “Stay, Sammy.” Dean sleepily scooted further onto the bed.

Sam hesitated. He really, really didn’t want to wake up to more of Dean’s groping. Okay, fine, he didn’t want to wake up and realize that he kind of _did_ want to wake up that way, he didn’t want to enjoy the feel of Dean’s hand around his dick, he didn’t want to relish in the feel of rocking his hips into Dean’s touch, dammit, Sam didn’t _want-_

“Sammy.” Dean whimpered, and he sounded scared, the way he had when Nurse Blondie had brandished her needle in Dean’s face.

Sam sighed. “Move your ass over.” He was tired, and so was Dean, so yeah, fine, he could indulge his poor brother who had suddenly come down with a case of ranch-inflicted-crazy. Sam climbed into bed and lay on his back beside Dean.

Dean rolled towards Sam and was molded to his side in an instant. Dean tucked his face into Sam’s shoulder, threw a heavily muscled arm across Sam’s midsection, and covered Sam’s left leg with his right. Dean pressed his half-hard erection into Sam’s thigh, his hips undulating slightly a few times against Sam’s hip.

Sam bit his bottom lip, and just when he was about to shove Dean away, Dean’s movements stopped and Sam could hear the sound of his brother’s deep, even breathing.

Sam turned his head to the side, and pressed a light kiss into Dean’s hair. “Sleep well, Dean.”

 _Please,_ Sam prayed. _Please wake up better._

 

Dean woke up an hour later, but he definitely wasn’t better.

Sam was instantly alert when he felt Dean stirring beside him. “Dean? You okay?”

Sam propped himself onto his elbows and looked over at Dean, whose legs were rustling nervously against the bedsheets, his head digging into his pillow. “Dad. No.” Dean murmured.

“Dean? Dean, wake up.” Sam clamped a large hand around Dean’s shoulder and gave his brother a slight push.

“No, no, _no, Dad!”_ Dean’s voice was louder now, his face scrunched up in distress. Dean’s arms flailed in Sam’s direction, and only Sam’s quick reflexes kept him from getting smacked in the face.

“Dean.” Sam shook his brother harder this time, wanting to interrupt that nightmare that was holding Dean hostage. “Come on, wake up, Dean.” Sam rolled Dean over onto his back, and he could feel the heat coming off Dean’s body even through both of their tee shirts. “Jesus, Dean.  Wake _up!”_ He levered himself above Dean and shook Dean’s shoulders, risking another hit to the face as he left his body unguarded. “Come on, Dean, it’s Sammy, please-“

Dean’s eyes flew open, fixated on Sam’s. Dean’s gorgeous green eyes were glassy and confused, but they were open.

“Hey.” Sam said gently in the sudden ensuing silence.

“Sam?” Dean frantically glanced around, only his head moving as his body still lay trapped beneath Sam.

“Yeah. It’s me. You okay?”

Dean’s face crumpled up again, and for one terrifying moment, Sam thought his older brother was about to burst into tears.

But he didn’t. As if a magic wand had floated across Dean’s face, his expression was suddenly calm, neutral. “Fine.” He let out a measured breath, and some focus came back into his eyes. “Uh, Sammy, not that I don’t love the whole he-man thing, but you wanna tell me why you’re pinning me to the mattress right now? Shouldn’t we be sleeping?” Dean grinned and moved his hips. “Although if you’re wanting a little midnight snack, I’m sure I could indulge.”

“For the love of-“ Sam relaxed his hold on Dean’s arms and slid to the side. “You were having a nightmare, you douchewad. I was trying to help.”  Sam was wary of Dean’s casual tone. The sheer agony in Dean’s voice when he had cried out for their father was still way too fresh in Sam’s mind. He eased off of Dean and pressed a hand to Dean’s forehead. “You’re burning up again. Shit, give me a second. I think we have some Tylenol.” He flipped back the covers and threw his legs over the bed.

His progress was halted when a thick, strong arm shot out to wrap around his waist, hauling Sam back towards the bed.

Dean’s voice was husky, his breath hot against Sam’s ear. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, little brother.” Dean’s mouth traced the shell of Sam’s ear. “Stayin’ right here with me.”

“Dean,” Sam said weakly. “Don’t.” Sam tipped his head away, trying to get away from Dean’s mouth, but Dean only took it as an invitation to follow. Dean’s soft lips crested across Sam’s cheek, his jawline, his neck.  Dean held Sam’s face towards his with one hand while the other sinuously explored Sam’s side, running along the long lines of muscle down Sam’s torso. “So beautiful,” Dean whispered. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and the endearments spilling from Dean’s lips went straight to his heart.

“So beautiful for me. My Sammy.” Both Dean’s hands were on him now, and the burn of Dean’s touch brought Sam crashing back to the present.

“Dean. Stop. _Stop.”_ Sam commanded. Sam launched himself out of Dean’s arms and off the bed. Keeping his body a safe distance away, he bent just close enough to Dean to feel his forehead.

Sam’s hand came away sweaty. “Christ, Dean, you’re on fire.”

Dean winked. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He knelt up on the bed and lunged for Sam.

“Dean!” Sam held Dean away from him, the leverage of his standing position giving him an advantage. “Dean. Look at what you’re doing. This is me. Sam. Your _brother.”_

Damn Dean’s molten emerald eyes, they held Sam captive once again. Dean brushed a hand across Sam’s cheek, softly.

Lovingly.

Possessively. “I know exactly who you are.”

Sam pulled away, stumbling backwards towards the bathroom. He grabbed the closest towel off the sink and ran it under cold water.  He walked back to the bed and thrust the cloth into Dean’s hand. “Put this on your forehead. Cool off. I’ll get you that Tylenol.”

Dean fell back on to the bed, throwing the cool washcloth over his face like Sam had asked. He cupped his crotch lasciviously. “Okay, Sammy. But when you come back…” Dean thrust his hips into mid-air a few times.

“Holy Jesus,” Sam whispered to himself. He would not be able to get that image out of his mind, let alone the X-rated glasses within his brain that imagined Dean naked and writhing beneath him while performing that sinful hip movement.  Sam stood at the harshly lit sink and splashed some water onto his face to clear his head.  He then mentally willed Bobby to call him back with some answers, and fast, as he grabbed a first aid kit from his pack.

Sam shook a few pills into his hand and filled up a cheap motel glass with tap water. Carrying them both back to the bed, he set them down on the nightstand so he could help Dean sit up.

“Hey, Dean, sit up. These will help-“

Sam yelped in surprise when Dean grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him roughly to the floor. “Stay down!”

Sam blinked rapidly and looked around the room. Seeing no immediate threat, he focused on his brother. “Dean?”

Dean’s eyes were vacant, and his breath came in quick, scared pants. “Hush, Sam.” He put his hand over Sam’s mouth. “They’ll hear you.”

Sam wrenched his face out of Dean’s grip. “Who will hear me? Dean, there’s no one-“

Dean tipped his chin to the left. “Vamp nest. About thirty yards out.” He turned his frantic, empty green gaze back to Sam. “You bleeding anywhere? They can smell that shit a mile away, Sammy.” Dean covered Sam’s body with his own, then reached for his dagger, that he had somehow gotten underneath his pillow since Sam had brought him home.

“Dean, there is nothing-“

Dean cut a clean slice across his right forearm. “Don’t worry, Sammy. I’ll distract them. They’ll smell me and not you.” Dean shoved Sam again so that Sam was halfway hidden between the two beds, then started out on an army crawl across the floor.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam whispered harshly.

When Dean cut his gaze back to Sam and shout whispered at him to be quiet, Sam’s eyes widened. He didn’t need to feel Dean’s forehead this time to know it had to be hotter than the Sahara.

“Dean. Come back to bed. Take the pills, okay, it will help bring your fever down. You’re…” _You’re fucking delirious,_ is what Sam wanted to say, but he didn’t want to spook Dean further.

“Come and fight me like a man, you blood-sucking bastards!” Dean ignored Sam and wielded his knife overhead , blood running down his forearm in one long, syrupy line. “You touch my Sammy and I will kill you!” He yelled into empty air.

Sam scrambled to his feet. “Dean, enough. There is no-“

“God dammit, Sam, get _down!”_ Dean roared, slamming his body into Sam’s and knocking him onto the other bed.  Dean blanketed Sam’s body again, and covered the lower half of Sam’s face with one tense hand. Sam breathed harshly through his nose, trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs since Dean’s hand covered his mouth.

Bending down to Sam’s ear, Dean said lowly, “We’re outnumbered, Sammy. Three to one. You take left, I’ll take right. Ready?” Dean paused for a moment, then ran an amazingly soft hand down Sam’s cheek. “When we get back, it’s just you and me, Sam. You hear me? I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna save us, and then it’s just you and me.”  Dean moved his hand, and his lips were on Sam’s before Sam could even process his words, and now Dean was kissing him, soft and slow and sweet, and Sam couldn’t think at all, couldn’t pull together the brainpower to throw Dean off of him, couldn’t think about anything except how this was the best kiss he had ever had.

Dean gently licked the seam of Sam’s lips before pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just you and me, Sammy.”

Then he was off of Sam like a shot,  the arm holding his dagger rising up high above his head, ready to strike.

And Sam’s phone rang.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Sam whispered.  Dean turned sharply at the shrill sound, his eyes widening at the new threat.  

Sam reached for his phone, and held out a staying hand. “It’s okay, Dean. It’s just Bobby.” Sam clicked the phone on, and repeated himself as he lifted the cell to his ear. “It’s alright, Dean.” Dean’s eyebrows were still drawn together in worry. “Dean,” Sam said softly, even though he knew Bobby would hear. “I’m alright.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but he kept his eyes on Sam.

“Hey, Bobby.” Sam said into the phone. “Find anything yet?”

“What the hell is goin’ on, Sam?” Bobby yelled.

“Nothing. We’re fine. Well. Not really. But it’s fine. Just tell me you have some answers.” Sam held the phone so tight it was a wonder it didn’t crack in his hand. _Tell me you know how to fix Dean._ “Tell me you know something.”

“Been doin’ some research. Couldn’t find much, kid, but what I did see ain’t great.” Bobby replied, his familiar voice helping a little to calm Sam. “I actually ain’t too far from you, so tell me what hotel you’re stayin’ at and I’ll head your way. Got some stuff to show ya.”

Sam nodded, too focused on keeping Dean calm that he forgot Bobby couldn’t see him. He rattled off the name of their motel. Just before hanging up, he quickly added, “Hey, Bobby? Do yourself a favor and tap out our secret knock first.” Sam watched Dean press himself against the wall closest to Sam, his back to the plaster so he could view the whole room. Dean’s eyes darted around, his body blocking Sam’s as Sam finished his call. “Otherwise you’re likely to get stabbed.”

Sam hung up the phone, and slowly reached out for Dean. “Come on, Dean. Let me get some Tylenol in you, okay? Get that fever down.”

Dean stilled for a moment, watching Sam’s every movement, and surprisingly let Sam take one of his hands. The ringing phone seemed to have snap Dean out of his vamp nest vision, and he sounded all of three years old when he addressed his brother. “Sammy?”

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam assured him. “It’s okay.” He guided Dean down onto one of the beds and gently pried the dagger out of Dean’s clenched fist. Laying it on the nightstand, Sam traded it for the glass of water and the pills. “Can you take these for me?”

Dean eyes him wearily. “Can’t fight if I’m drugged, Sammy.” But he looked confused, and he peered around Sam’s body to survey the hotel room.

“Can’t fight if you’re sick, either.”  Sam argued. “You’re burning up, man. Please.” Deciding the time for dicking around was over, Sam pressed a pill in between Dean’s lips.

Dean’s plush, soft, slightly chapped lips, that had kissed Sam’s own so sweetly just moments earlier. Shaking his head, Sam concentrated on the task at hand. “These will bring down your fever.”

Dean resisted, pulling his head away. “Don’t wanna.” He said petulantly.

Sam decided enough was enough. He was not about to lose his brother to some stupid haunted ranch sickness, and he was not above doing whatever it took to get Dean’s fever down so his brain didn’t boil in his big, stubborn head.

So he played his ace in the hole, and dug deep to find his long lost little brother voice, pulling out all the stops. Playing up his performance, Sam tapped into his own acting skills as well as Dean’s one weakness- his little brother, his baby boy, his sweet Sammy that Dean could never, ever say no to.

“Please, De.” Sam whispered. He turned puppy eyes on Dean, and even dipped his head down to nuzzle Dean’s cheek. Pressing the pills against Dean’s lips, Sam whispered sadly. “Please take them. I need my brother back. Please take them, De? For me?”

When he felt Dean’s lips relax just enough, Sam pushed the Tylenol into his mouth. He kept his face close to Dean’s even as he held up the glass of water. “Drink, De. That’s it. Then you’ll be all better.”

Dean did as he was told, and when he pushed the glass away, he reached for Sam and held him tight, wrapping his arms around Sam’s torso, practically hauling him into his lap where they sat on the motel bed.

“Do anything for you, Sammy. Gonna protect you.” Dean’s hold tightened. “Nothing’s gonna get you. My Sammy.”

Sam nestled against Dean’s warmth, because morals be damned his brother was never this affectionate anymore. He just hoped he would have enough warning before Bobby came in and found them. He draped his arms around Dean’s neck, feeling the burn of his brother’ skin against his forearms.

Putting aside his fear for Dean, Sam whispered, “Just hang on, Dean. It’ll be okay.” Sam brushed his lips across Dean’s sweaty temple. “We’ll be okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's fever is back, and it's sky high. Sam needs to bring it down. Fast

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice shook right along with his entire body. Sweat ran down his temples in rivulets, and Sam did the best he could to combat the raging fever with cold, wet towels, not wanting to leave Dean long enough for a trip to the ice machine. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know. I know, Dean. You’ll be okay. It’s okay.” Sam ran to the sink to refresh the towel so it would be cold again when he pressed it to Dean’s forehead. “It’s gonna be okay.” He ran the cloth over Dean’s hair and the back of his neck before swiping gently across Dean’s cheeks. Sam had to get his brother’s fever down, but unfortunately the Tylenol and wet towels weren’t doing shit.

He had long ago stripped Dean of his shirt, leaving Dean only in a pair of black briefs as his body sweated out his fever against the cheap motel sheets. Remembering what the nurse had cautioned about dehydration, Sam was trying to make Dean drink water as often as he could.

Dean twisted his head back and forth against the pillow, pursing his lips. “No, no more Sammy. Can’t.”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam prodded. “You need to drink.”

“NO!” Dean screamed. His upper body flew off the bed like a shot and knocked the glass out of a stunned Sam’s hand. “And god, _dammit,_ get. DOWN!” Dean once more shoved Sam to the ground, and Sam barely had time to register the sharp pain that ignited his left shoulder and Dean was on top of him again.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. He fisted a hand in Dean’s hair and yanked, hard. He needed to get through to his brother. “Listen to me! We are not in danger, alright? There is no vamp nest. There is nothing out there except for your ridiculously high fever. You have to let me help you!”

Dean’s green eyes landed on Sam, focusing and unfocusing like a camera lens.

“Sammy,” Dean said softly.

Sam let his head fall back against the carpet. Christ, this was exhausting. “Yeah, De. It’s me.” Sam felt Dean start to relax above him.

Just when Sam thought he could get out from under Dean’s grip without sparking another reaction, he heard four sharp knocks on the door, followed by two taps, followed by three more knocks.

“Bobby,” Sam breathed.

Dean’s head jerked up, and he reached for the dagger on the nightstand, the fight back into his eyes.

Sam gripped Dean’s shoulders with both hands. “Dean. It’s okay. It’s Bobby.”

“Shh!” Dean shushed him. He hopped to his feet, smooth as a panther, and crouch-crawled towards the door. “Stay down, Sammy.”

Sam rolled to his stomach so he could lever himself off the floor. “Dean, no!”

At his shout, Bobby burst through the door.

“Bobby, stop!” Sam pleaded.

Two short feet away from Bobby, Dean lifted his dagger.

Bobby froze.

Sam acted. He launched his body into Dean’s, tackling his brother to the floor. He slammed the wrist holding the dagger to the floor, apologizing to Dean under his breath. “Bobby, don’t move.” Sam cautioned. He grabbed Dean’s chin. “Dean. Look at me. Look at me!” Sam yelled.

Dean fisted a hand into Sam’s shirt. “The hell, Sam?!? You’re gonna get hurt!”

Sam kept a strong grip on Dean’s jaw, and curved his other hand around Dean’s left hip, his thumb touching the skin over Dean’s hipbone as his fingers curled into the softer flesh of Dean’s flank. “Dean,” Sam said softly. He stroked his fingers soothingly across Dean’s side. “Look at me. Look at your Sammy.” Sam heard Bobby’s sharp intake of breath, but he ignored it, focusing all of his attention on Dean. “We are in a motel room in Texas. You and me. And Bobby, come on Dean, our Uncle Bobby! He’s here too. Because you’re sick, Dean, and you need help. Please, please let me help you. Okay?” Sam just barely tilted his head sideways and addressed Bobby, never taking his eyes off Dean’s. “Fill up the tub, Bobby, with cool water. Please.” Speaking to Dean again, Sam kept his voice low and soothing. “We are going to help you, Dean.” Sam bent low so he could whisper into Dean’s ear while Bobby was busy in the bathroom. “You’re still my big brother. You hear me? You’re always gonna be my big, strong, hero. But you’ve got one hell of a fever, Dean, and I’m scared. Please, please let me help you. Okay?” Sam breathed the last word against Dean’s ear as a plea.

Dean gradually released the tension holding his body stiff underneath Sam. His breathing slowed, though his eyes were still wide with fear. “I gotta take care of you, Sammy. Gotta protect my baby boy.”

“You are, Dean.” Sam reassured him from where he sat, straddling Dean’s hips, keeping him immobile beneath him. “I’m safe. I promise. But you’ve got to listen to me now, okay?” Sam eased off of Dean inch by inch, ready to overpower him again if need be. He reached out a hand to Dean’s forehead, which was still boiling hot and even more worrisome, desert dry.

Sam rose up off of Dean and helped his brother up off the floor. “Come on, Dean. Bathtime.” They had to get Dean’s fever down, and now. “Bobby! We’re coming in.”

Dean let Sam lead him into the bathroom, stiffening immediately upon seeing another person.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam soothed. It’s just Bobby. You know Bobby.”

Dean eyed the eldest hunter warily. Sam used his distraction to lift one of Dean’s legs up over the rim of the tub so he could get Dean in the bath.

But then Bobby leaned up against the door, making it shut suddenly with a sharp click, and Dean lost it.

“Sam!” Dean turned towards the noise, thrashing against Sam’s body. “Come at me, motherfuckers!” Dean shouted, hallucinating once more, his eyes going cloudy.

“Dammit!” Sam cursed. He didn’t have time to calm Dean down again. He would have to rely on shock this time. “Bobby! Grab his legs.”

“Sam,” Bobby said hesitantly.

“DO IT!” Sam yelled, wrestling Dean’s upper body against his chest.

Bobby obeyed, and the two of them somehow wrangled a flailing Dean into the bath tub.

The cold water shocked Dean’s system the way that Sam both hoped and feared that it would. Sam winced in sympathy as Dean froze when his body sank into the water, the liquid icy against his burning skin.

Bobby leaned back against the door, wiping a hand down his face. “What the hell is going on here, Sam?”

Sam pressed his forehead against his arm, the fingers of one hand still tangled with one of Dean’s. “I told you everything I know.” Sam was eager to hear what Bobby had found out, but considering Dean’s unstable state at the moment, knew that it was a conversation best left when they could be out of Dean’s earshot.

“Sammy,” Dean whimpered from the tub, his hand squeezing Sam’s. “C-co-cold.”

“I know.” Sam lifted his free hand to caress Dean’s cheek. “I know, De.” He picked up a washcloth and let it soak up some cold water, then gently pressed it to Dean’s forehead. “I’ve got to get you cooled off. I’m sorry, De. I’m so sorry.” Sam disentangled his fingers from Dean’s so that he could wash and soothe Dean with both hands.

Bobby turned the bathroom doorknob as quietly as he could so as not to startle Dean. “I’ll pull out some clean clothes for him,” he said gruffly. “And I’ll fix his bed.” He edged out of the bathroom.

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam turned and spoke over his shoulder. “And move the weapons.”

Bobby nodded and closed the door oh so softly behind him.

Turning back to Dean, Sam ran cool, wet fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean leaned into Sam’s touch, and Sam sent up a quick prayer of thanks that Dean’s forehead didn’t feel nearly as hot against Sam’s arm as it had a few moments ago.

“Cold. And ’m tired, Sammy.” Dean whined.

“I know. I know, we’re almost done.” Sam ran the soapy washcloth over Dean’s torso and down his back. He cupped his hands and rinsed Dean off, running his hands along Dean’s muscular body so he could gauge its temperature.

Much better, Sam determined. Not wanting to go too far the other way and let Dean freeze to death, Sam pulled the stopper out of the drain and braced his body, holding his arms out to Dean. “Okay. Good job, De. Come on. Out you go.”

Dean grabbed on to Sam’s forearms and allowed his brother to lift him from the tub. Dean slumped tiredly against Sam. Strong as Sam was, it was still a struggle to get Dean’s legs to clear the lip of the tub since the rest of his body was practically dead weight.

Wrapping Dean in a towel, Sam rubbed his back through the cotton as Dean shivered against him. “You did so good, De. So good. Bedtime.” Sam fumbled behind himself for the doorknob and walked his brother over to the bed. He briskly lowered Dean’s wet briefs down his legs and quickly toweled him off before encouraging Dean to step into the clean pair that Bobby had laid out. Dragging a soft, dry pair of sweatpants over Dean’s legs, Sam then gently pushed him onto the sheets.

Bobby sat in one of the hotel chairs, out of sight, staying quiet and keeping his gaze averted as Sam finagled Dean into bed.

Dean collapsed onto the sheets of the bed that Bobby had re-made as soon as the backs of his knees brushed against the mattress. He curled into the pillows, his eyes swiftly closing.

Sam stood back up and let out a breath.

“Sammy.” Dean reached out a tired arm, fumbling around for Sam’s hand.

Sam bent over the edge of the bed. “Gotta talk to Bobby real quick, okay Dean? Gonna figure out how to kick this thing’s ass.” Sam brushed a hand over Dean’s hair, pulling the comforter up over Dean’s chest. “Then I’ll come back. I promise.” Not caring anymore if Bobby was watching or not, Sam pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple, not sure which one of them needed the comfort most.

“Mmmkay, Sammy.” Dean sighed. His breathing soon became deep and even, and only then did Sam back away from the bed.

Meeting Bobby’s gaze with a determined lift to his chin, Sam pulled out the other chair. “Okay, Bobby. Spill. Everything you know.” The only light in the room came from the lamp hanging low over the table in between them.

Bobby watched Sam carefully. After a moment he pulled out his flask, taking a long sip, then offering it to Sam. Sam shook his head.

Bobby started talking. “The Granger Ranch is one hell of a cursed piece of land, Sam.” He then laid out everything he knew.

 

Twenty minutes later, they both rose from the table.

“You need to sleep, Sam. You ain’t no good to him if yer falling asleep on yer feet.” Bobby killed the light.

Sam nodded. “Take the other bed. I’ll share his.”

Bobby was already heading that way. “Get some sleep, son.” He instructed, his rough voice infused with gruff affection.

Sam gently lifted the covers and slid in next to Dean, pulling his brother’s feverish body close while trying not to wake him up.

“We’re gonna fix you, De.” Sam brushed a kiss across Dean’s slack lips. “Promise.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So John Granger murdered his wife and brother, and then thirty years later, his son did the same thing to his own family? Just chopped them up?”

Bobby gave a grave nod before taking a sip of bitter coffee. “With the same chainsaw, too. And rumor has it-“

“It’s still hanging in the same shed,” Sam finished grimly.

Bobby nodded again. “I figure maybe Dean accidentally touched it when y’all were out there.” His gaze drifted over to where Dean still lay sleeping in the bed the brothers had shared. “Or at least got too close.” Bobby blew on his coffee, more for the sake of stalling than to actually cool it down. His mind wasn’t just on the case in front of them.

Bobby hadn’t mentioned that he had seen Sam kiss his brother, and Sam hadn’t brought it up either.

Hell. The way he figured, whatever could keep Dean from succumbing to these nasty hallucinations, well, Bobby wasn’t going to be the one to spit on it. They needed to do whatever they could to keep Dean grounded, and if that meant Bobby looked the other way, well, then his neck muscles worked just fine.

“Dean’s got less than a week left.” Sam’s quiet voice intruded on Bobby’s introspection. And damn, that boy’s wide, sad eyes did just as much to Bobby’s heart now as they did twenty years ago. “I can’t…I can’t lose him, Bobby.” Sam choked.

“Hey.” Bobby set down his mug with a decisive thump. “We ain’t losin’ anybody. Now that we know what we are dealing with-“

“What we think we are dealing with,” Sam cut in miserably.

“What we are dealing with,” Bobby reemphasized, “Hell, son, we know how to get rid of a cursed object.” Bobby stood and shrugged on his jacket. “We’ve just gotta find a box big enough that we can ward against the black magic. Once the chainsaw is locked away, Dean should be as good as cured.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. From the bags under his eyes, Bobby could tell the boy hadn’t slept a damn wink. “That’s some serious warding, Bobby.” Sam ground his eyes against the heels of his hands.

“You leave that to me.” Bobby declared. “You don’t travel in these circles long as I have without knowing some people. I’ll get the box; you just keep Dean safe and out of the cuckoo’s nest while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a day, maybe two, then you and I will go out to that ranch and shut this fool thing away for good.” He shot-gunned the rest of his coffee and, with one last assuring glance for Sam, left the brothers alone.

 

Sam moved from the stiff hotel chair back to Dean’s bed without hardly standing up straight, his body just one big mass of fatigue.  He collapsed back into bed with Dean, not giving a second thought to curling his body protectively around his big brother’s. Sam and Bobby had gotten up before the sun, neither able to sleep much, and now that Sam had gotten a shot of good ol’ boy confidence from his favorite father figure, he let his body sink into the mattress as he drew the covers up to his chin. He wound one long arm around Dean’s waist and buried his face into the flushed skin of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s fingers slowly curling around his own was the last thing Sam felt before falling into an exhausted slumber.

 

Dean woke him up three hours later, panting and sweating, trying to fight the fever that was burning up his body from the inside out.

Sam’s teeth chattered as he lay in the bath behind Dean, wiping away salty sweat that poured down Dean’s heated skin as fast as Sam could cool it off. “It’s okay, De. Breathe through it. I’m right here.” Sam cradled Dean’s body against his own and willed the cool water to do its job.

“Don’t feel good, Sammy.”

“I know.” Sam’s heart broke a little every time he heard those words. He felt so damn helpless, at the mercy of Dean’s fever and delusions, and all he could do was keep talking and cooling Dean down.

“I’m here, Dean.” Sam wrung out the cloth and dipped it back into the water before draping it over Dean’s forehead. Dean lay back against Sam, eyes screwed shut in anguish, and Sam almost preferred the fierce hallucinations to the crippling, weakening fever. At least delusional Dean still had some fight left in him.

This Dean scared Sam to death. “Keep fighting, De.” Sam re-wet the cloth again, and forced some Gatorade down Dean’s throat. “I’m right here.”

 

The shrill ring of Sam’s phone woke him up way too soon the next morning. He fumbled across Dean’s body to reach the nightstand, and answered the phone with his eyes still closed. “’Lo.”

“Sam. It’s Bobby. Dean up?” Bobby sounded rushed.

Sam sat up straight, glancing down at his passed out brother. “No.”

“How’s his fever?”

Sam lay the backs of his knuckles against Dean’s forehead, the way Dean had always done to him when he was sick. “He’s warm, but not burning.” Sam’s eyes fell closed with relief. Maybe it was over. Maybe Dean was starting to get better, maybe-

“Okay. Okay, good. Get him up and dressed, and you boys meet me out at the ranch, okay?”

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. “You don’t mean the Granger Ranch.”

“Damn right I do, son. The curse started here, it’s gonna end here.”

Sam shook his head, even though Bobby couldn’t see him. “No. No way. I’m not taking Dean back there.”

“Sam!” Bobby shouted. “You listen to me, boy.” His voice was oddly reminiscent of John’s, and for a moment Sam froze. But then he heard the affection lying underneath, as well as the desperation. “Sam, look, I’ll explain when I get here. I have the box that can keep this cursed chainsaw locked away for good, but the only one who can make sure that happens is yer brother.”

Sam’s mouth still hung half open in shock and hesitation, and he had yet to remove his hand from Dean’s skin. “Bobby, he’s, he’s still so weak. I can’t…what if…what if this…”

_What if this breaks him?_

Bobby’s voice gentled, but didn’t lose its fervor. “It won’t, Sam. We won’t let it. Just get yer brother down here, so we can finish this. Trust me, Sam.”

Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose, and took a fortifying breath. “We’ll be right there.”

 

“Sammy?”

Sam’s heart clenched, and he felt like such a traitor because dammit, Dean still sounded weak as a kitten, yet here they were, knee deep in horse shit and rusted farm equipment.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s hand, once more half carrying his brother’s weight, Dean’s arm slung tiredly across Sam’s shoulders. Fever, ranch sickness, lack of fluids; it had all left Dean ridiculously fucked up, and Sam grit his teeth at having to drag Dean back to the scene of the crime.

“Bobby,” Sam huffed. “This had better work, or I swear to God-“

“It’ll work,” Bobby said, hefting a huge black wooden box from his truck.

Sam wished his surrogate father sounded just a tad more confident.

He propped Dean up against Bobby’s tailgate so he could help Bobby lower the heavy box. “This is it?” Sam asked needlessly.

“No, Sam, I just like hauling around warded object caskets in my truck, to use on a rainy day. Yes, this is it.” Bobby scolded.

The box was heavy, and Sam didn’t bother asking how Bobby had got it. As far as he was concerned, the only thing that mattered was getting the murderous chainsaw down into it, and locked away forever. “You said Dean has to be the one to stash it.” Sam’s eyes glinted. “Why?”

Bobby wiped sweat from underneath his cap with his forearm. He watched Sam move back in front of Dean, and he didn’t miss the way Dean’s body folded intimately around Sam’s.

Sam crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows. “Bobby?”

“John Granger murdered his wife and brother with that chainsaw. Thought she was cheatin’ on him.” He forestalled Sam’s next question. “Your guess is as good as mine as to whether that’s true. Then, thirty years later, almost to the day, his son does the same to his own family.”

Sam grew impatient. He knew this already. “What’s this got to do with Dean?”

Bobby sighed.  “You boys were on the right track when you came out here last week, hunting down a haunted piece of equipment.” Bobby eyed Sam. “But I’m figurin’ that at the time, y’all didn’t know exactly what piece that was.”

Sam nodded reluctantly.

Bobby continued. “The day you boys were out here-“

Sam straightened, unconsciously tightening his hold on Dean. “It was thirty years after the son murdered his family.” He realized.

Bobby nodded grimly. “Except his son didn’t have no kids to carry on the family’s dark tradition. So…”

“So the chainsaw is doing it for them.”

“Got it again.”

Sam shook his head. “No,” he whispered, refusing to believe what Bobby had yet to say.

“The curse ends with him, Sam. Dean is afflicted with its curse, and he needs to be the one to put the chainsaw to rest. But once it’s in his hands, well.”

“You want to give a delusional, hallucinating man a killer chainsaw.” Sam stared at Bobby. “I feel I shouldn’t have to point out what is wrong with that situation.”

Bobby kept one hand on his gun, and stepped close enough to Sam to lay a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the only way to put this place to rest.”

Sam swallowed hard. “I probably also don’t have to point out, then, that-“

“The murderers used the chainsaw to kill their brothers.” Bobby’s expression turned somber. “No, no you don’t.” Bobby un-holstered his weapon. “That’s why I’m here.”

Sam’s entire body started to vibrate with the familiar nervous energy that usually preceded their hunts. But this was different, this was a crackling electricity that connected all his nerve endings and centered them into several large shocks across his body, trying to prepare him for what could come next. Sam couldn’t stop looking at Dean, slumped against Bobby’s truck. His hands curled tightly into the fabric of Sam’s shirt, but the rest of his body looked tired, feverish.

Vacant.

“Okay,” Sam decided. It didn’t matter what it took; he needed his brother back. “Okay.” He looked at Bobby. “How do we do this?”

Bobby cocked his gun. “Follow me.”

 

“No,” Dean shook his head vehemently. “Don’t wanna touch it.” He turned cloudy eyes on Sam. “Don’t make me touch it, Sammy!” Dean clung to Sam, hiding his face in Sam’s chest.

Sam could feel Dean’s fever coming back, felt the heat burning through his shirt. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s biceps, ducking his head and leaning his upper body back to force Dean’s head up. “Hey.” He gave Dean a gentle shake, and made sure their eyes were connected. “Hey, listen to me, Dean. I just need you to take the chainsaw and put it in the box right here, okay?” The three of them had walked across the main crop field of the Granger Ranch in the pitch black night, hauling the box behind them. Bobby had wrestled the shed’s doors open, while Sam once again propped up a heavily listing Dean.

Sam and Bobby dragged the box into the shed, placing it as close to the cursed chainsaw mounted on the far wall as they could. In the dark, quiet night, the old saw made of rusted metal and fine teeth looked harmless.

Sam felt as though it would rev up and jump from the wall at any second.

He tugged on Dean’s collar, hefting Dean up to stand on his own two tired feet. Sam ran a gentle hand through his brother’s hair, murmuring softly. “Okay, Dean, I just need you to pick that saw up off the wall and place it in this box. You do that, and I promise you will feel better.”

Dean nudged his head forward and sloppily brushed his lips across Sam’s. “No, Sammy. Don’t wanna.” He nuzzled Sam’s neck, and curled his hands into Sam’s jeans, tucking his thumbs against Sam’s hipbones. “Wanna go back to bed with you.” He moved his head back and forth, coating Sam’s neck in feverish sweat. “Don’t feel good.”

“I know.” Sam hugged Dean tightly, still soothing his hair, digging his fingers into Dean’s scalp. “I know, baby, but I need you to do this for me. I need you to end this.”

Bobby cleared his throat, and made himself busy checking the latches on the box.

Sam tipped Dean’s chin up, and kissed him softly. “I need my big brother back,” he whispered. Sam squeezed Dean’s shoulders. “Please, De.”

Dean lifted his head, and looked at Sam, squinting his eyes. Sam wasn’t even sure that Dean realized Bobby was standing three feet away.

Sam was about to make another plea when Dean’s gaze suddenly cleared, and he nodded at Sam. “Okay, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes squeezed shut in relief.

“I got you, Sammy.”

Sam’s throat burned. He reached out and turned Dean towards the wall holding the chainsaw before he changed his mind. “Go, Dean. Take it off the wall, and place it in the box, right at Bobby’s feet, okay? Put it in the box and then let go as soon as you can.”

Dean slowly walked toward the wall. He lifted his hands up to grip the chainsaw.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Sammy?”

Sam gave him an encouraging nod, even as his right hand crept towards his gun. Not that he would ever be able to shoot Dean, but the metal against his palm helped to steady him. “That’s it, Dean. Bring it over here.”

He and Bobby held a shared breath when Dean’s fingertips brushed the handle.

Their hearts stopped when Dean grabbed onto the base, lifting the chainsaw from its hooks.

Dean turned to face them, cursed object in hand.

The night around them remained silent.

Dean looked at Sam, awaiting instruction, as if he had already forgotten what Sam had told him.

But the chainsaw, like Dean, remained quiet and still.

Sam and Bobby let out a shared exhale.

“Good job, Dean,” Bobby said softly. “Bring her over here.” He slowly guided his left hand to gesture down towards the empty box at his feet.

Dean’s hands started to shake.

Sam inched forward. “Come on, Dean. It’s okay.”

Dean’s eyes closed.

“Dean,” Sam said, firmer this time. “Eyes on me.”

Nobody moved.

“Dean.”

Bobby nudged the box closer to Dean.

“Dean!” Sam commanded.

Dean’s eyes flew open. His hands tightened around the chainsaw.

Sam motioned Dean closer with a small wave of his hand. “That’s it, Dean. In the box. Almost there.”

“Almost there,” Dean repeated.

“Yeah, buddy.” Sam encouraged. “Almost there. That’s it.”

“Almost there.” Dean’s hands molded around the base of the chainsaw. His eyes clouded up again. “Almost there. Almost there,” he chanted, his voice sending shivers down Sam’s spine.

“Shit,” Bobby cursed. He palmed his gun.

“Dean,” Sam said worriedly, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“Almost there,” Dean nodded, and advanced on Sam. His beautiful green eyes were now mere slits, and his body moved as if controlled by the chainsaw instead of the other way around.

Dean ripped on the cord, making the motor scream to life. “Almost there,” he repeated.  

“No,” Sam shook his head, backing away from Dean and the roaring, rotating teeth of the saw.

“It’s over, _brother_ ,” Dean rasped. He held the saw higher. “Gonna end it. Gonna end you.”        

“Stop it, Dean,” Bobby ordered. He lifted his gun. “Cut it off, and put it away.”

The chainsaw roared louder as Dean sauntered closer to Sam. “Almost there.”

“Now, Dean!” Bobby yelled over the noise of the grinding motor that only seemed to get louder and louder.

“Dean,” Sam pleaded, casting his eyes around the shed for anything that would provide a distraction. His hand wrapped around his gun, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t shoot his brother. “Dean, it’s Sam. It’s your Sammy. Come on, Dean, I know you’re in there.  It’s Sammy, De. Focus on me, focus on my voice. It’s Sammy.”

Dean’s steps faltered. “Almost th-Sa….Sam?”

“Yeah, De. It’s me. Come on, baby, let it go. Put it down, put it in the box.” Sam stopped retreating. He lifted a hand to point to the box, willing Dean’s eyes to follow.

Dean looked between Sam and the box, then back again. “I…Sam, I don’t know what’s happening. What’s going on? Sam? Sammy!”

“Dean!” Sam stepped towards Dean and to the side, gently coming up behind his brother as he talked. “Listen to me, Dean. Listen to my voice.” He placed his hands tentatively on Dean’s hips, letting faith in their bond override all fear. Sam gently walked Dean closer to the warded box. “You’ve got this, Dean. We’ve got this. Put it down. Put it away for me.”

Bobby eyed them cautiously, both hands on his gun, trained on Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean whimpered.

The saw reared up and back, and Dean struggled to fight it, to keep it from slashing through Sam’s flesh.

“You’ve got it, Dean,” Sam recited, uttered, prayed.

“Sam.”

“You’ve got it, Dean. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Dean hadn’t moved his hands from their grip on the saw, and the motor was still running, though quieter now. Sam didn’t know if that was just his hopeful imagination, and he didn’t have time to care. He wrapped his hands more firmly about Dean’s waist, and pressed his chest against Dean’s back, stepping them both closer to the black box.

“Sammy.” Dean stumbled.

Sam risked life and limb, literally, when he ran his hands up Dean’s sides and back down his arms, to fold his fingers around Dean’s where they held the chainsaw. Prying Dean’s fingers up one by one, Sam moved them so they held the saw just over the box. “Let go, Dean. Let it go. Come back to me.” Two more fingers and it would be over. “Come back to me, De. Please.”

Dean’s body went slack in Sam’s arms, and the second the saw dropped from Dean’s hands into the box, Bobby kicked the lid shut and planted a booted foot atop the wood. He wrapped enchanted chains around the wooden box, locking them shut with two giant padlocks. The night fell silent again as the motor whirred to a slow, quiet halt.

“Good job, De,” Sam kissed Dean’s temples. “You did it.” He hugged Dean tightly.

Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Sam sank to the ground with him, cradling him in his arms. All the fight suddenly left Dean, and he started to slide out of Sam’s grasp.  “Dean.” Sam slapped his hand lightly across Dean’s cheek. “Come on, Dean.”  Sam tapped Dean’s cheek. “Dean!”

 “I’m sorry, Sammy.” Dean’s clear but tired eyes fluttered open, and he lifted a hand just long enough to caress Sam’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Dean!” Sam gave Dean a jarring shake. His fever was rapidly diminishing; in fact he now felt stone cold to Sam. Sam curled his body around Dean’s. “No. No!”

“I’m sorry,” Dean’s breathing was labored, his voice weak. “You’re safe now, Sammy.” 

Dean’s eyes fell shut.

“Dean. Dean!”

One last breath left Dean’s chest before his body went completely lax against Sam’s.

“DEAN!”

 

“No.” Steam curled around Sam as he exited the shower.

“It’s two blocks away, Sam.”

“No.” Sam slathered shaving cream on his face.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Nope.” Sam cleared off a patch of the foggy mirror.

“Sam.”

“NO.”

“I want a goddamn cheeseburger, Sammy.”

“Then you can wait until I’m done and ready to take you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? It’s been three weeks, Sam.”

Three weeks since Dean had been cured. Three weeks since Sam had held his dying brother in his arms. An eternity, and a second, had passed before Dean’s had sucked in a breath, startling back to life in Sam’s arms.

Sam hadn’t let Dean out of his sight since.

Sam tapped his razor against the sink, rinsing it off before scraping it along his cheek again. “You wait for me to go, or you don’t go at all. Your pick.”

“Dictator.” Dean walked up behind Sam and wrapped his arms around Sam’s still damp torso, playing with the towel knotted at Sam’s waist.

“Whiner.” Sam tossed the razor into the sink and turned to kiss Dean’s neck, smearing shaving cream across Dean’s shirt.

“Bitch.” Dean tipped his head back.

“Jerk.” Sam captured Dean’s lips with his own.

Yeah. Dinner would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my lovelies :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out my original debuts at www.autumnmckayne.com  
> Twitter - @autumnmckayne


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